Working hard this week, but right now I’m hardly working. Avondale Estates main drag is slow and go outside the window of the local coffee shop. Me, the barista, and the rain outside are the only things happening around here. And that’s fitting. As is this song.

I just finished up about six hours at Emory University’s Winship Cancer Center, where I spent the day with a good friend who’s gotten some rather unexpected news recently. It’s rather ironic that I applied just yesterday for a contract writing job with the American Cancer Society. Long, tough plan of treatment ahead, but spirits are high.

And I don’t have anything insightful to offer in today’s entry other than an idea for an untapped, sorely needed job that — if created — can get America going again: Medical Comedy Writer. It’ll keep America in stitches while you’re getting stitches. I mean, just look at the word “comedy”; “Med” is right there in the middle. And the remaining letters spell “coy.”

More later on some initial thoughts on medical comedy material. For now, I’ll enjoy the rain, reflect a bit more, press replay, or maybe play this, and get some work done.

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